


a bladed lily

by eeveepkmnfan



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Drabble Collection, Fluff, I just wanted these two to take care of each other!!!, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22995532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeveepkmnfan/pseuds/eeveepkmnfan
Summary: Dedue never could have expected Linhardt.Neither could Dimitri, for that matter.
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	a bladed lily

It all starts one day (as most days do) with Linhardt falling asleep against a sturdy tree, sunlight streaming down through the leaves and causing him to bask in the comfortable warmth. Like that feeling when you’re not truly awake yet - a safe and reassuring place to lay, both in head and heart. And while Edelgard and Hubert will no doubt have more to say about his habits when next they see him (they always do), when he’s sleeping with only his own silent thoughts… he can’t regret anything. 

What is the use of life if you can’t spend it doing the things you want? This is yet another reason why Caspar is the best. His favorite person.

It seems all these years have only forced him to tally up more and more points for a boy who will never know just what he is winning - but that’s fine, too. If Caspar knew, he’d probably be confused at the need for points at all. He’d say, “Linhardt, what are you talking about? Of course you’re my best friend!” And, well. He knows that, he likes that.

It’s just annoying sometimes… worrying over whether Caspar knows that he knows. Ugh. 

Linhardt breathes out a sigh and flops down onto the ground, fresh green grass yielding to his weight as he rolls over until he’s on his stomach. He pillows his head on the makeshift bed that he’s made of his arms, but just as he’s closing his eyes, prepared to sleep away his worries… 

“Linhardt,” a deep voice intones, right above him. He slowly turns over onto his back only to find himself looking up at that prince’s vassal or friend or what have you. He’s overheard them bickering about it before.

He can’t remember the other boy’s name, but when green eyes drift to look towards a flower he’d nearly crushed, he suddenly recalls seeing him in the greenhouse as he walked past it to the fishing pond. He must be fond of gardening, then.

“Oh. What’s your name, again?” He’s always been terrible when it comes to remembering things like names and titles and politics and propriety. Or rather, he just couldn’t be bothered to pretend to be interested in any of it. (His family still despairs over the state of their heir; perhaps that’s part of why it secretly brings him a sense of smugness whenever they write to him only to say that he is a disgrace.)

He’d much rather fill his head with volumes about Crests or techniques for fishing… what is the use of knowledge without the desire to hold it in your hands simply to say you can? If his head must be full of something, it might as well be something interesting. 

The prince’s person (like Caspar is his) raises a brow at him, and he huffs. He’s not irritated though. More exasperated that there is someone in the monastery who has not yet given up hope on him ever trying to be someone else. What a bother.

“You can’t expect me to know the names of every student here. Isn’t it much easier to simply ask when it comes up? That way, I don’t exert too much effort and everyone has no expectations for me.” It’s not as if he’d need all those names for later in life, anyway. He knew everyone in the Black Eagles and that was definitely more than enough socializing for him. (If he had to hear another lecture from Ferdinand about ‘broadening and enriching your horizons, Linhardt!’ then he thinks he’d die.)

“The Professor expects you to attend classes,” says that deep voice, for some reason not going away. Linhardt sits up with a sigh, hair disheveled and ribbon rapidly slipping down his neck to flutter amongst the blades of grass. His fingers sought it out instinctively, running over it in patterns long familiar to him.

“No, I don’t think they expect anything of me,” he returns with, because that’s what he’s used to: has there ever been a teacher not even a little irritated with his habits, at the very least? And when it comes to Professor Byleth… well, when they go around looking at everything with that blank stare of theirs, it comes across like they don’t care about anything at all, let alone whether or not Linhardt makes it to class on time. 

The only time he’s seen them smile is when they’re eating together with Edelgard and Hubert; that only makes him more uneasy. What kind of person enjoys time with those two? It’s a little frightening, in fact.

(In the future, Hubert would guffaw when he expressed those thoughts; would say that Linhardt must be terrified of looking in mirrors, then. He’d be very put out about the whole mess. Really, becoming friends with Hubert of all people? Madness.)

Green Eyes crosses his arms and projects an aura of sternness, much like when Edelgard corners him in the library. “The Professor requested that I return you.” 

Linhardt stares. “What am I, a lost item?” And really, why would the Professor care?

The other boy bends down and grabs his hand in a gentle hold, hauling him up. But when he tries to make a dignified exit, he is turned around and soon finds himself being led along like a particularly lost cat. 

“Yes,” the boy replies, tone bland. “Let us be going; there is still time before you are late.” Linhardt slumps into the hands firmly holding him, resigned. He slumps so much, in fact, that he lands on top of the other boy and refuses to move.

“Oops,” he utters, just as bland. There is a loaded silence that takes place for about a minute. Then, a sigh. “You leave me no choice.”

And all of a sudden, he is being lifted into strong arms that cradle him like they’re afraid of holding too tight - as if a person could break from the pressure of being held so gently. He looks up at his captor only to find green eyes focused on the way that leads to the classroom, and he tips his head to thunk against a solid area somewhere around the collarbone.

A faint weight against him, warmth enveloping his body, the motion of steps ever so slightly tugging at him… why, one could fall asleep like this. So he does, because who could win against the beckoning hands of slumber?

(Hubert. The answer is Hubert.)

Dedue looks down at the sleeping boy in his arms for just a moment, and then looks back forward. He’s happy to do something to repay the Professor for saving His Highness’s life, but… he never expected for their request to turn into this.

He doesn’t mind carrying Linhardt. But he worries for the other boy’s reputation; what if rumors spread? His Highness would be furious, as he always is when others whisper about ‘that man from Duscur’. 

He walks a little faster and tells himself that this is something that won’t occur a second time.

He does not yet know Linhardt.


End file.
